


Janus

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Big Brother Len, Body Horror, Dark, Disturbing Fluff, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Horror, Morbid Humor, Protective Leonard Snart, Sibling Love, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rogues form under Captain Cold, taking orders from him and running things as he says. Yet they’ve never seen his face. </p><p>WARNING: DISTURBING THEMES. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



> HEY SCARLET HERE'S THE THING HAHAHAHA
> 
> (Side notes: I totally made up Len's birthday as well as the age difference between him and Lisa, which is 5 years here.)

_Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back._

Thinking of that now, vomit dripping down his chin, Hartley Rathaway would rather have choked.

Cold’s voice cuts through his nauseous daze, flat and uninterested: “If you’re finished, Piper, I think you’ve seen what you needed to see.” Hartley manages a shaky nod. “Chill out, kid. So long as you stay in line, you won’t have to come back here again.”

There’s a sliver of something in that last sentence—a soft cushion of powder underneath the ice. Almost sounds like understanding.

Heat Wave yanks Hartley up by his collar. Hartley thinks he’s going to vomit again.

“Mick, baby,” Glider playfully chastises, “be gentle with the poor dear.”

She gets a grunt in response. Next thing he knows, Hartley’s being hauled to the back room’s door, towards some semblance of normalcy after—after.

But of course, this cat has to kill itself again.

Closing his eyes, Hartley whips around and asks, “The others…did any of them survive after?”

…silence.

The answer comes in the tones of finality: “I was the only one who survived.”

Glider takes Cold’s hand and squeezes. Hartley allows Rory to shove him out.

When he enters the main room of the Rogues’ den, Hartley’s almost immediately accosted by his comrades’ eager faces.

“Did you see him?” Shawna whispers like an excited child.

“Forget that,” Mardon interjects, “is he even real?”

Axel grins, “Looking a little pale there, Peter Piper. Is our illustrious Captain Cold that ugly?”

Hartley swallows more bile.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “it’s-it’s real. I s—I saw it.”

He nearly doesn’t make it to the bathroom in time.

* * *

In a lovely little house in a lovely little neighborhood, a policeman arrives home after a long day at work.

His wife greets him with a kiss. She is trembling.

“I just fed it a late lunch,” she tells her husband in a hushed voice. Although she smiles broadly at him, her eyes are wide and terrified. “Ham and cheese, like you said.”

He kisses her again. Fingernails dig into her arms until she gasps with pain.

“ _It_ is my child,” he fondly reminds her.

“O-of course, Lewis. I’m sorry.”

From somewhere else in this lovely little house, a girl’s voice yells, “Mom, where are the extra crayons?”

The policeman’s wife forces herself to breathe. “In the top drawer, Lisa! I labelled it for you!”

“Oh. Thanks!”

Lewis—for this is the policeman’s name—spares his wife an indulgent smile. “She’s still drawing, then?”

“Practically all day,” his wife responds meekly. “She keeps asking if she can show her work to her brother.”

Lewis laughs. “Of course she would. She’s her mother’s daughter.”

His wife’s knees quake.

* * *

In the many months since Lisa was born, she hasn’t taken a single step. Her mommy tells her to ask her brother for help; Lisa doesn’t know why she’s crying when she does.

“Will you help me, Lenny?” she asks, down there in the cold, dusty basement of that lovely little house.

And Lenny kisses her cheek, eyes soft. He says, “Of course I will, sis. That’s what I’m here for.”

Why is Mommy so scared of him?

“That’s something we can talk about later, Lisey. Come on.”

Sloowwwly, Lenny helps her stand. She gasps in surprise, thrusting her arm out for balance. He helps her with that too.

“Let’s count our steps,” Lenny says, like a teacher to his student. “Ready?”

Lisa nods.

“Alright. One…two-three…four…five-si—”

Lisa shrieks, toppling to the floor. She takes Lenny with her. Pain erupts in her body, and she cries.

Lenny gently pushes her up, brushing away some of her tears. “Sorry, sis. That was my fault.”

No it wasn’t. It was _her_ fault.

“Lisa,” Lenny speaks, sharper, “stop. It was my fault.” Lisa ducks her head. He frowns, tucking her hair behind her ear in apology.

When he speaks next, his voice is softer: “Would you like to try again?”

Lisa swallows. “Could…could we maybe do it later? I wanna draw some more.”

“’Course we can, sis. Let’s get you to the couch.”

He lets her crawl all the way there. Lisa’s glad her brother’s not like Daddy.

When they try again, she makes it all the way across the room. Lenny’s smile warms her all the way down to her toes.

* * *

The Rogues form under Captain Cold, taking orders from him and running things as he says. Yet they’ve never seen his face. The ones they do see are Golden Glider, who’s apparently his sister, and Heat Wave, who’s apparently his only friend besides his sister.

Glider rarely leaves her brother’s side; when she does, she only leans out the door to Cold’s room—a place that, of course, the Rogues are never allowed to enter—to either give orders or ask a tactical question about someone’s ability or weaponry, maybe they could do this when they pull the next heist? Yes? Now _there’s_ a dear.

Mardon once asks if she ever actually thinks about, say, having a life outside of her brother? He asks it loud enough so maybe Cold will hear and finally make an appearance, if only to glare.

But no. Glider gives him a smile filled with sweet venom and tells him very simply, “I’d sooner saw off my right arm, sweetheart,” before disappearing back into the darkness of Cold’s room, shutting the door soundly behind her.

Heat Wave does actually step out of the room, often enough that he’s got a life outside of Cold. If Glider doesn’t speak for her brother, he does. But a heat gun and solid muscle will only get someone so far.

One day, Shawna asks, “Is Cold even real?”

No one has an answer. They look to Heat Wave, only to find him burning holes in their foreheads.

“Say that again,” the arsonist growls, “see what happens.”

She doesn’t.

* * *

A father prowls slowly around his small son, taking in the prone form in perfect stoicism.

Tapping his belt to his chin, he asks, “What are you?”

Dutifully the son replies, “A disappointment.”

“And when your sister is born, what will you, as a disappointment, do?”

“Protect her.”

“How?”

His son looks up at him. Determination burns cold and bright in his little eyes. “By any means necessary.”

His father smiles.

* * *

When Hartley Rathaway finally agrees to join the Rogues, his reason boils down to two parts: want of revenge, and curiosity.

Revenge he wishes to wreak upon the Flash and his little friends at STAR Labs. Curiosity he wishes to quench because, despite being the so-called leader of the Rogues, Captain Cold did not grant him the honor of showing up himself to recruit him; his lapdog, Heat Wave, did, sliding a folded piece of paper that held Cold’s written proposal across the table. After Hartley read it, Rory crossed his arms and asked if he was “comin’ or not?”

He doesn’t expect to actually _like_ any of his “teammates,” yet he quickly finds himself roped into stupid movie and game nights, late night talks and group meals. Once in a while, Golden Glider will peek around the door and ask him how so-and-so device is coming along.

Sometimes she’ll even hold out a drafted idea her brother has. One thing’s for sure: if he’s real, Cold is very intelligent. Considering that Hartley’s the one saying it, that’s quite an accomplishment.

Yet, Cold’s also very good at hiding. Try as they might, neither Hartley nor his fellow Rogues ever get a look at their fearless leader’s face.

Eventually, Hartley finally tells himself that enough is enough. _If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself._

“Anyone know Cold’s name?” he asks that night, when Heat Wave’s in the backroom with Cold and Glider.

“No,” Mardon replies, before smirking and adding, “but I bet the police do.”

* * *

“Alright boys, gather ‘round. My son’s gonna try his hand at planning.” Lewis stage whispers behind his hands, “Don’t worry. I gotta ‘nother one handy.”

Snickers ripple through the small crew. Then Lewis calls over his shoulder, “Okay son! Make me proud!” and suddenly the room plummets into frigid quiet.

At first, all they can do is stare, horror paling their faces to liquid white.

“Heavenly Father preserve us,” mutters the only religious guy there as he fervently crosses himself.

“What the fuck _is_ that thing?” cries another man.

“ _Shit_ —Snart, what’re you playin’ at?!” shouts a third.

Whatever _it_ is, it looks severely unimpressed, raising an eyebrow and crossing its arms.

The girl kisses rests her head on its shoulder. “Relax boys,” she smirks, “it’s just my brother.”

“Your—you mean you—” one of the men stutters, looking between it and Snart. “I didn’t sign up for this, you sick fuck!”

The religious guy bends over and pukes. He’s not the only one.

Lewis draws out a long sigh. As he shoots them all between the eyes, _it_ lays its head on top of its sister’s.

* * *

Hacking into police records is child’s play. Hartley could do it in his sleep. Takes only a few seconds before Cold’s alias matches a name.

He grins in triumph at the cluster of Rogues clambering to get a look. “Looks like we’re looking for a Leonard Snart.”

He clicks for a photo.

_NOT AVAILABLE_

…what?

Smile dropping into a frown, Hartley feeds the computer a few more commands.

_NOT AVAILABLE_

“Are you shitting me?” Mardon hisses.

“Maybe he’s on another criminal database,” Bivolo suggests.

Leonard Snart is indeed on another criminal databases—pretty much all of them, in fact. Yet every time Hartley tries, and he _does_ actually try, every time the same generic grey silhouette pops up, crossed out with a neat black X.

 _NOT AVAILABLE_ says the white letters at the top. Every single time.

“Fine,” Hartley snaps, “we’ll just dig up everything else!”

Axel claps him on the back. “Do it, Peter Piper!” he crows.

Hartley slaps his hand away. “Call me that again, Trickster, and I will melt your organs.”

Axel just laughs.

* * *

A neighbor who lives right next door to that lovely little house in that lovely little neighborhood stares at the two cops at her door, shell-shocked.

“Lewis Snart?” she asks incredulously, fingers rubbing at her lips, “Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“And yet,” says one of the cops, a man by the name of Officer West, “there have been countless noise complaints from the Wallace family just a door down from you. They claim it sounds like someone hitting a child.”

This neighbor scoffs, “Well, did you hear from anyone else in this neighborhood?” the cops glance at each other. Shift from foot to foot. She rolls her eyes. “That’s what I thought. Listen, the Wallaces are very old, officers. They wouldn’t know a child from a fly. I can personally assure you that Lewis Snart is a kind man. He doesn’t even _have_ children!”

West and his partner leave without further evidence.

* * *

There’s not much to be found on Leonard Snart, and it’s pissing Hartley off. Not even STAR Labs, with its admittedly meticulous filing, has anything beyond the name, date of birth, and alias.

This is what he _does_ know, and what he shares with the Rogues: Leonard Snart was born on the 21st of December, 1965 (“whoa, our boss is _old_!” “Shuddup Tricks! I’m trying to listen!”) in Central City General to Lewis and Patricia Snart. There’s no school records, so Hartley has to assume (and he _hates_ assuming) that Snart was home-schooled. There’s one photo of his child self at a local chess tournament, which he won. Hartley only found that through sheer luck, another thing he despises, because he’s not listed as Leonard Snart, but as Lenny Winter. What a coincidence.

Lisa Snart was born in Lewis’ house prematurely. According to a hired nurse’s report, she barely made it through her first days. Patricia herself nearly died in childbirth and was confined to her home for nearly three months, taking care of both herself and her newborn daughter. Of Leonard Snart there is no mention.

Lewis is described as a perfectly genial man, dutiful husband, and loving father. Judging by his criminal record, that’s very debatable.

“What’re you doing?”

The Rogues whip around, shrinking like children waiting for punishment. So absorbed in digging into the Snarts’ lives, they didn’t even hear Heat Wave’s approach.

Hartley’s the only calm one. “Research,” he says.

Rory shoves past them and looks at the screen. STAR Labs records are on full display, but instead of Leonard Snart’s file, it’s Cisco Ramon’s.

Heat Wave grunts, irritated, but leaves them be, lumbering to the next room for a drink.

“Shi-it,” Shawna whispers, hand over her heart, “where did Cold even _find_ that guy?”

* * *

Mick Rory doesn’t officially meet Len and his baby sister until their father deems his crew fit enough to see them, whatever the fuck _that_ means.

When the two of them walk out of the shadows though, Mick understands.

Everyone else’s either killed on the spot, has an anxiety attack and _then_ killed on the spot, or pukes their guts out before getting killed on the spot. But not Mick. No, he’s the only one who still stands in the pool of piss, blood, and puke.

“Whoa,” he murmurs, “ _awesome_.”

Eyes widen. Mick’s seen the look a lotta times—a hopeless case getting a scrap of good news for the first time in their lives. He’s proud to be that scrap.

Snart Senior’s lips pull back in a devious grin. “Well, Mr. Rory,” he says, “at least someone around this shit show’s got common sense.”

Mick’s never been accused of having common sense before. Weirds him out.

“Rory, meet my daughter Lisa.”

Lisa’s grinning at Mick like he’s the best guy around. “Hey there, handsome,” she purrs.

“And this,” Lewis gestures to _him_ , “is her brother, Leonard.”

Mick holds out his arms in an X formation. “Nice to meet you.”

The siblings scoff and shake his hands. It’s the start of something amazing.

* * *

Hartley looks into more police reports. It’s obvious from the noise complaints that abuse was a very likely scenario, despite other neighbors’ claims. He looks into the ones who denied those reports.

Let’s see…Harriet and Joseph Fields, Gregory Asher, Tess Morgan, Jamie and Amelia Heart, Veronica and Samuel Sykes…and many, many others.

Hartley zeroes down to the next door neighbors. Nancy and Frederick Wallace, and elderly couple, and one of the people from the list, Tess Morgan. His interest perks when he finds out she has a record as a skilled scientist.

Wonder why he’s never heard of—oh.

 _Oh_.

* * *

_Thump…thump…thump._

The policeman’s wife shoots up in bed. While faint, those thumping noises blare in the quiet night.

 _Thump…thump…thump-thump—_ a hiss. Mumbling. _Thump…_

The color drains from the wife’s face. Heart pounding in her ears, she throws off the covers and shakes her husband awake. He glares at her at first, until he hears it too.

An ugly sneer twists his features. “Why, honey,” he tells her kindly, “if you want him to be quiet, you’re going to have to tell him yourself.”

He rolls over, leaving his wife violently shaking.

Below her, stairs continue to creak and thump. In her mind’s eye, she sees _it_ bumbling its way up, peering through the darkness, coming closer, and closer, and _closer_ —

She gasps a breath. Blows it out. Sweat trickles down her brow.

Lewis is right. If she wants it to stop, she has to force it.

Gathering what courage she has left, the wife presses her feet onto the carpeted floor and pads to her closet. Tucked in the corner, partially hidden by a few shirts and a black dress, sits a metal baseball bat.

The wife wraps both hands around the taped handle. Breath coming short, she makes her way to the bedroom door.

It’s almost up the stairs. She has to hurry. If it knows it can get out—she dreads to think what will happen then.

As she steps into the hall, she quietly berates herself: “Come on, Pat. Get a grip. Just—push it down the stairs if you have to.”

A fresh sting of tears burns her eyes. “Don’t think about it. Just—just do it, Pat. You can do it if you have to.”

She creeps to the kitchen. Just next to it, a door leading to that cold, dusty basement. She arrive just in time to see it open.

A terrified groan, that of a wounded animal more than a human, sends Pat’s body into tremors as it escapes her throat. She tries not to throw up as it winces at the sight of her, knowing it’s been caught.

Lisa glances at it. She looks worried. “Mommy,” she starts, but Pat raises her metal bat, ready to swing.

“Get back down there,” she orders, voice hoarse with fear and disgust. “ _Go_!”

“But Mommy!” pouts Lisa, “Lenny’s hungry! I thought we could get him a snack. Please?”

It flinches, shoulder sagging with shame. Pat can’t believe Lisa’s become attached to it.

She forces herself to take a step forward, hoping she looks threatening. When she speaks, however, it’s with a shrill, frightened yell, “I said _GO!”_

Lisa wraps her arm around its neck, shrinking away from her mother. It droops further, wrapping its fingers around her elbow.

“I’ll be okay, Lisey,” it murmurs in an adolescent’s voice.

Lisa looks close to tears. “But Lenny—!”

Yet it interrupts, peering up at Pat. The woman nearly whimpers, hands quaking around her handle. Its eye somehow conveys both harsh anger and bitter sorrow at once.

“Sorry, Patricia,” it says with all the politeness of a perfect child, “it won’t happen again.”

Pat clenches her teeth. “See that it doesn’t!”

It nods. To Lisa, it whispers, “Come on, sis.”

Lisa still tries to protest, “But—but—!”

“No buts. You heard your mommy. Let’s go; I’ll help you back down.”

With effort, it turns around, grips the railing with one reluctant hand, and pulls the door shut with the other.

_Thump…thu-thump…_

_Thump…_

_…thump…_

Pat collapses on the linoleum, bat falling with a clatter. When her husband doesn’t come down to inspect the noise, she lets herself sob.

* * *

Tess Morgan’s license was stripped for egregious ethical violations. In and out of mental institutions for years before her many doctors finally—and very dubiously—settled her in a quiet neighborhood, with a cop right next door just in case.

Hartley scrolls through her test subjects. She worked on all ages, ethnicities, and genders, but kept trying the same experiment, which she called Project Janus. Each and every one of her—well, _victims_ , really, had a twin.

Question is, does Tess Morgan’s sickening work have anything to do with Leonard Snart? He doesn’t even have a twin.

Unless…?

* * *

Lisa, seven years old, gets woken up by her daddy in the middle of the night. It’s very important they visit Ms. Morgan right away. She doesn’t mind; she likes Ms. Morgan. She babysits her and Lenny sometimes.

The small child scrambles to the floor, kissing her teddy so he knows she’ll be back soon. Then she takes her daddy’s hand and follows him into the hallway.

* * *

Tess Morgan’s last experiment is found in her personal computer, easily hacked from the Rogues' den.

For the first time since his teen years, Hartley Rathaway recoils.

* * *

Lisa’s never been in this part of Ms. Morgan’s house before; she and Lenny were never allowed. It’s made of white tales from top to bottom, with fancy stuff on trays and tables. The lighting takes a second to adjust to, making everything look brighter and clinical. Like a hospital, Lisa thinks.

Oh! And there’s her brother, sitting on one of the two metal slabs standing in the middle of the room. But he doesn’t look very happy.

Not wanting her big brother to be unhappy, Lisa scurries to him. Grinning, she holds her arms up. The tension in his face eases just a tiny bit into a fond quirk of the mouth. In an instant, Lisa’s squealing as she’s scooped into his arms. Lenny’s twelve, so he’s _really_ strong.

“What’re we doing here, Lenny?” she asks, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Lenny’s frown reappears, making her regret asking. “I dunno, Lise.”

Ms. Morgan enters with her kind smile, the one that reminds Lisa of Mommy. Lenny holds her tighter.

* * *

This experiment is listed as the only success.

* * *

Lisa whimpers, scared. Theree are clamps around her ankles and left wrist and they won’t let her move! She’s too small to get them off by herself. Lenny can’t help; he’s strapped down by the chest as well as his ankles and right wrist.

“They’re all prepped and ready,” Ms. Morgan, bad, _bad_ Ms. Morgan, grins at Daddy.

“W-what’re you doing, Daddy?” Lisa cries, “Please, Daddy, I wanna go home!”

Daddy pats her head, shushes her. “We’ll go home right after this, Lisa. I promise.”

“After _what_?” Lenny growls.

Lewis Snart gazes at both of his children with pride. “I have a math question for you, Leonard. If you answer correctly, your sister can go.” Lenny gives him the go ahead. “What happens when you take two negative numbers and multiply them together?”

Lenny’s eyes narrow. Lisa’s seen that look before—it’s when someone asks something ob-vi-ous. She’s not sure what the word means, but her big brother doesn’t like it, so she doesn’t either.

“You get a positive number,” Lenny answers, swift and sure.

Daddy nods, “Exactly. Think of this exactly like that equation, son. I’m taking two negatives,” he gestures to both of them, “and combining them to make a positive.”

Lisa doesn’t understand.

She rolls her head over to look at Lenny for help. But her brother’s not looking back at her—he’s gone white.

* * *

Hartley clicks out of the window as fast as he’s able. He can’t look at it anymore, he just—he _can’t_.

Yet he staggers to his feet and starts running to Cold’s back room. Unspeakable or not, he  _has_ to know.

* * *

“Lenny?” Lisa asks, voice small and scared, “Lenny, what’s goin’ on?”

She’s never seen her brother cry. The sight of his tears just make her more scared. Blindly, she reaches for his hand, fingers closing on air until she whimpers and gets his attention.

Lenny’s tears fall faster, a horrified moan falling from his lips.

“Lenny!” Lisa sniffles, “Lenny, what’s goin’ on?!”

Her brother shuts his eyes tight. By the time he opens them, his tears have stopped. Calmly, he faces Lisa again.

Taking her hand in his, he says, “It’s gonna be okay, Lise.”

“But what’s goin’ on, Lenny?”

A shaky breath. “Daddy and Ms. Morgan’re gonna do somethin’.”

“Do _what_? Why were you crying?”

Lenny swallows. “I…”

Lisa stares at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to speak.

She relaxes marginally when he smiles at her. “I was just so happy,” he says, giving her tiny hand a squeeze.

Lisa’s own tears fade into a toothy grin. “Oh!” she says, “About what, Lenny?”

“Lisa…” Lenny’s smile falters, just for a second, before coming back more reassuring than ever. “They’re…they’re gonna make sure we’re together forever.”

* * *

Hartley throws open the door.

Oh…oh, _fuck_.

* * *

Lisa gasps, delighted. “Forever and ever?”

“Yeah, Lisey. Forever and ever. But it might hurt, okay? So—” Lenny’s voice cracks, “so you just stay strong. Can you do that?”

“Are we really gonna be together forever?” Lisa asks, because she just wants to hear him say it again.

“Yeah,” Lenny rasps, “together forever.”

Suddenly, Ms. Morgan’s right above Lisa. She looks like a doctor.

“You’re gonna make sure we’re together, Ms. Morgan?” Lisa grins, swinging her and Lenny’s joined hands as much as she can.

Ms. Morgan’s smiling. It’s not like her usual smiles, though—it’s a weird one. Lisa doesn’t really like it.

“Yes I am, sweetheart,” she whispers, stroking Lisa’s hair. Lenny tenses. “Now, I’m going to put this over your face,” holding up a clear mask, “and all you have to do is breathe.”

“Can I still hold my big brother’s hand?” asks Lisa.

“Of course you can. And guess what? After this, you won’t need to hold his hand—he’ll always be with you.”

That sounds amazing!

Lisa’s so excited that when Ms. Morgan straps the mask onto her face, she eagerly picks up her head to make it easier. Daddy puts one on Lenny’s face too.

“Before you do this, old man,” Lenny says, in a voice Lisa’s never heard before, not from her brother—low, dangerous, like when Daddy drinks from too many of those ugly bottles; “just remember: two wrongs don’t make a right.”

Daddy laughs. “But you said they did, son! Oh, come now, Leo—relax. Your sister’s going to be right here with you.”

A strange hissing noise fills the room. Lenny glares at Daddy as best he can with the mask.

“Shoulda known…you wouldn’t ledder go…”

Lenny’s eyes roll in his head. Alarmed, Lisa shakes their hands. That gets his attention again, but it’s unfocused. He’s blinking slowly, like he’s about to fall asleep.

“’S okay Lise,” he murmurs, “we’ll be okay…”

“Together forever, right Lenny?” she whispers.

A pained laugh. “Yeah…t’gether…”

Another hissing noise. Then Lisa falls asleep too.

* * *

Lisa doesn’t remember that night until she finally gets to look in a mirror at thirteen.

Len remembers all too well.

* * *

In the split second before the reaction, this is what Hartley Rathaway sees in that back room, Rogues Den, Central City, on the 14th of April, 2015:

Mick Rory kissing Leonard Snart, cupping the back of his head, roughly stroking the space just below his ear. Leonard Snart fisting his shirt, responding with obvious vigor—his profile is a handsome one, strong jaw, shaven head, lips red from Rory’s attention.

Lisa Snart, knee drawn up, sketching on a pad of paper as if nothing whatsoever is going on right next to her. She’s biting her lip in concentration, torn between focusing on whatever she’s drawing and balancing the pad on her single thigh.

But the first thing Hartley sees is the entire picture of the Snart siblings.

Lisa’s right half and Leonard’s left half are sewn together.

Their heads are a few inches apart, the point of contact between them a mass of ropy surgery scars. Lisa’s hair is thrown over her— _her_ shoulder, so the skin is all the more exposed. They’re encompassed in a large blue shirt, blanket draped over their bare legs. Sticking out from under that blanket is Leonard’s foot, Lisa’s own bent underneath.

Mick does something particularly clever with his tongue. Leonard releases a quiet gasp, and Lisa’s pupils dilate, blush forming on her cheeks as she feels pleasure spike through their shared body.

Conjoined twins.

But they’re not twins, are they?

The next second, all three (two?) snap to attention. Lisa’s sketch falls to the floor—a depiction of a woman in scrubs, holding an oxygen mask, a manic gleam in her eyes.

That’s when Hartley sees the rest.

Leonard’s face. His _whole_ face.

* * *

Len wakes up during the procedure. He starts screaming from the sheer agony piercing through his skull, like his brain is on  _fire_.

Just at the edge of his hearing, he picks up Morgan and his wretched father talking with clinical stoicism:

“Hm, I think we should try connecting them at the shoulder instead. Merging the brains has never worked in the past.”

“Whatever you wish, doctor.”

“Yes…I guess I’ll start fresh on the other side, then.”

A mask is shoved over his face, and the pain fades into blissful nothingness.

* * *

Their mother starts calling him _it_ , like it’s his fault Morgan fucked up.

But he can deal with it, so long as his baby sister’s still kissed on the cheek, however hesitantly, by Patricia. Because Lisa, at least, still looks as normal as can be.

* * *

The right side of Leonard Snart’s face is covered with angry scars and blisters. A thin covering of skin barely stretches over his temple, so his veins and muscles are just shy of full exposure. His right eye, unlike its blue partner, is milky white, with only a bare grey hint of an iris. When he blinks, only his left lid moves, the other one missing altogether.

For another eternal second, everything screeches to a halt. Nobody moves. Nobody dares to breathe. They’re all deer caught in headlights, just as they are the drivers about to ram into them.

When it passes, Heat Wave shoots to his feet with a terrible roar. He slams the door shut, trapping Hartley inside.

“What the _fuck_ are you doin’ in here?!”

Hartley stammers out some nonsense. The lights are on this time—obviously not expecting someone to barge in like he did—so he can’t help but look at…at…

_“I’d rather saw off my right arm.”_

That’s why Glider only leans out the door. Because if she were to walk out—

Glider herself interrupts his thoughts. “Well, Lenny,” she smirks, “I told you it would be Piper who found out first. Looks like I win the joint.”

Cold raises his eyebrow—his _only_ eyebrow—and says, “Looks like you do, sis. Then again, if you get high, I get high. So really,” he smirks at her; she doesn’t flinch at seeing his full face so close to hers, “it’s a win-win.”

Glider grins and kisses his scarred cheek.

Heat Wave lets out a disbelieving sound. “What’re you two idiots doin’? You made a _bet_ about this?!”

Glider waves a dismissive hand, but it’s Cold who responds: “Chill out, Mick. We knew it’d happen eventually.”

“And now,” Glider smiles, laying her head on her brother’s shoulder, “it’ll never happen again.”

“Setting an example and all that,” Cold finishes. He turns his attention to Hartley. Piper shivers under his disfigured gaze. “So, you wanted to see what we are, huh Piper?”

For once in his life, Hartley can only stammer nonsense.

Glider laughs, “Whaddyah say, Lenny? Wanna show him the goods?”

“I don’t see why not, Lise.”

Next thing Hartley knows, the conjoined siblings push their body off the couch, and the blanket falls away.

They stand a little off-center due to their height difference before the—before. The shirt ends just above Cold’s navel and just under Glider’s, exposing genitals sloppily fused together, one of Cold’s balls missing and Glider’s vagina a pink nub only just in view behind her brother’s penis.

“Made the whole puberty thing a little awkward,” Glider admits, “but we figured it out.”

“Eventually,” Cold concedes. Glider laughs.

All up and around their genitals, more ropy scars, slicing around their legs as well—their feet are bare.

“Usually I wear heels,” Glider shrugs, “helps with the leaning problem. But we weren’t expecting company just yet.”

The siblings glance at each other. It’s as if they’re talking without words.

Hartley’s vision tilts. Their spines…must be attached. Tess Morgan did her job too well. _How_?

“Mick,” smirks Cold, “if you would.”

Heat Wave grumbles, but walks behind them. The sound of a zipper is pulled. In perfect tandem, the siblings pull off the shirt.

Glider’s right breast is a mess of scar tissue, a lump poking out of the shared skin like a tumor. When she sees Hartley looking, she smirks.

“Gets a bit itchy from time to time,” she says.

“For shame, Piper,” Cold teases, “didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stare at a woman’s breasts?”

“How impolite, Lenny.”

Heat Wave rolls his eyes.

Hartley can’t breathe.

And then…they— _it_ —starts to move.

With the height imbalance, it has to limp. One, two-three. One, two-three.

It stops a mere foot from Hartley. Bends at its joint waist.

Two voices speak as one: “What was that phrase? ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?”

_Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back._

Thinking of that now, vomit dripping down his chin, Hartley Rathaway would rather have choked.


	2. A Spoonful of Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you read Janus and need some fluff? Here are four bonus scenes that were left out of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took these out because most of them just didn't fit and I think maybe one gave too much away too soon. I decided to put them here instead, because writing Janus' verse is very fun.
> 
> The next 'it' is Devenir. It's looking forward to making its appearance, and unfortunately, no, it will NOT be in the same verse as Janus. (Although, let's be honest, that would be spectacularly entertaining.)

**I. Boredom is a Funny Thing**

Lenny's reading on their couch. He is seventeen, Lisa twelve, and the book probably a million. Because it is  _so. Fucking. Boring._

Sketching's worn out its welcome for the night. Nothing's on TV. Lisa's certainly not gonna call their dad.  _Ugh,_ Lisa just wishes she could...

Before her slow smile can build, Lenny firmly snaps at her, "Don't even think about it."

Lisa grins. "Too late!"

"N—!"

Lisa shoves off their couch. They tumble to the floor, book flying clear across the room and slamming into the wall with a loud  _SMACK_! Pain spikes through Lenny's nose, but Lisa pays no mind.

The carpet barely muffles her laughter. Likewise face down, Lenny tells her as sincerely as he can manage, "Fuck you, Lisa."

**II. An Arrangement**

Scientific fact: no one knows Lisa's brother better than her. Lenny's never been in love before, but she recognizes the feeling all the same.

Patting his cheek, she says, "Come on, Lenny. Just ask him out."

Lenny slowly cranes his neck. The sheer absurdity of the idea shows on his face. "No offense, sis, but I don't see how that could work."

But of course, being the stubborn fifteen year old she is, Lisa cups her mouth and calls Mick into the room. (Just in time, too—another few seconds the kitchen would be up in a blaze.)

"Do you wanna go out with my brother?" she asks him plainly. Lenny's angry nerves burn cold.

Mick blinks. "Sure, but I don't see how it'd work with all the," he waves his hand up and down.

Lenny scoffs, rolling his eyes. But he's hurt, and when he's hurt, Lisa's hurt. Either way it's unacceptable.

"Mick," she snaps, in a tone remarkably similar to her sibling's, "kiss my brother."

Dead silence.

"Did I stutter, baby?"

Lenny starts, "Lise—"

"Shut up, Lenny. You are going to pucker up or so help me I can and  _will_ make you."

There's nothing for it.

Mick doesn't take a step until Lenny finally nods. Then he's there in a second, grabbing Len's face and shoving their lips together. Their teeth knock, noses hit, and the awkward angle makes Lisa's nose wrinkle.

Lenny's exploding with happiness.

When they finally separate, their eyes stray to Lisa. Although her cheeks are bright red, she pants, "We can make this work."

Her brother smiles.

**III. Condolences**

Lewis trudges into their room, scowling as always. He finds his daughter falling asleep on his son's shoulder while the latter reads a book.

"Son," he snaps, instantly waking the former, "I gotta talk to you."

Len tilts his head, "Well, whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Lisa."

Lisa giggles into her hand; her brother smirks.

"Shut your mouth, you disgusting bastard! Did you know your mother is  _dead_?"

The laughter stops. Yet in its stead, while somber, is pity.

"Yeah," Lisa replies, "we were there."

Lewis' hand tightens on his gun. "What did you just say?"

Len speaks as if he's talking to a particularly obtuse man, "Come now, Dad. Who do you think tried to save her?"

"Unfortunately," Lisa sighs, "we just made her pull the trigger."

A shot rings out. A blood-chilling, inhuman shriek follows.

And then, a body drops.

**IV. A Brief Interlude**

For Lisa, life is divided into two parts: before Lenny and after. There is no in-between, no overlap.

She grew up with Lenny, but what matters to her is After. Fucked up as it is, no matter how frustrated or angry she gets...well, if given the choice, she'd stay with him.

Sometimes he thinks differently. But only sometimes.

"Together forever?" she jokes.

And he always replies with more emotion than either of them are comfortable with, "Together forever." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! >:D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Janus [ART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550631) by [bloodinamug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodinamug/pseuds/bloodinamug)




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